


where living kisses are

by therestlessbrook



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Kissing Prompts, Romance, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook
Summary: The first time she feels the touch of Frank Castle’s mouth, it’s an accident.[A series of kiss prompts from tumblr.]
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	where living kisses are

The first time she feels the touch of Frank Castle’s mouth, it’s an accident.

Bullets crack into the drywall, glass shatters along the floor, and Frank’s body presses Karen hard into the wooden floor. Her heart hammers against her ribcage and fear is cold against the back of her tongue. She can’t hear anything but the gunfire and the sound of her own heartbeat but she’s aware of a slight brush against her hair. Then breath, hot against her neck.

It’s not a kiss—it’s just a touch.

Then he’s rising to hands and knees, beckoning her out of the apartment and she’s going with him—because even if is a killer, he’s the devil she knows.

* * *

The second time, his mouth is against her shoulder. Again, it’s not a kiss—it’s a _hug_ —but his face is against her shoulder and she’s clinging on tight. He’s alive and here, and after months of loss, it’s a gift she never thought to look for. She clings to him _hard_ , because seeing him again has torn open every wound from those last few months she worked at Nelson & Murdock. She remembers all of the indecision and pain, every misstep and lost connection. She lost so much during those weeks—her tentative relationship with Matt, her job, and even her trust in Foggy, because she knew there was something he wouldn’t tell her. She never got most of that back; Matt is dead and now she works for the Bulletin, and while she and Foggy are still friends, there’s a bit of distance. He’s got his new fancy job and fancy apartment and fancy girlfriend and even when they all have drinks, Karen feels that slight disconnect.

But Frank came back. He is _here_ , his hands warm against her back, the hard crease of his mouth pressed to her shoulder.

She is the one to pull away first, running a hand through her hair. “Just—really good to see you,” she says.

He won’t quite meet her eyes. “Good to see you, too,” he replies. “Be careful.” He gives her one furtive glance, like he’s chancing a look at the sun, and then he’s pulling up his coat into place and striding out of her apartment.

* * *

The third time, it’s deliberate.

It is a kiss, but it’s so soft that she barely feels the whisper of it. Her face is still a little damp with tears, skin flushed from her outburst. The cold wind coming off of the river bites into her bare skin, but the touch of his lips against her cheek drives any thought of cold from her mind.

He kisses her cheek, and she knows it means ‘goodbye’ as much as it means ‘stay safe.’

Later, when she’s alone in her apartment with her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, she considers the fact she wants to tell someone. _Frank Castle kissed me_ , she thinks, and knows there’s no one to tell. No one else knows he’s alive, save for David Lieberman. That discreet kiss in the dark—it’s all she has left of Frank.

It’ll have to be enough.

* * *

The fourth time, he shows up at her apartment with a bouquet of flowers and fading bruises beneath his eyes.

It’s a few weeks after the hotel, when she last glimpsed him climbing up and out of an elevator, blood streaming down his face. Now, he stands in her doorway, shoulders a little hunched and hood up, like he’s trying to stay invisible.

“Hey,” she says, and steps back. It’s a silent invitation to come in, and he does. The door swings quietly shut behind him. He holds the bouquet like he’s not quite sure what to do with his hands.

“You’re okay,” says Karen. “I’d heard—I mean, I knew something happened at the carousel but I wasn’t sure—”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay. Ended things there with—well, with the last person involved.” He swallows and she watches the shape of words he hasn’t quite mustered the strength to say. She knows how much he’s probably still dealing with, and she doesn’t want to pry.

“You want some coffee?” she says, because at eleven in the morning on a Saturday, it’s too early for a beer.

He hesitates. “Can’t. I mean, I would—but I’m meeting someone in an hour. I just wanted to stop by, grab something.”

“What did you come by for?” she asks. She isn’t sure what he needs, but she’ll try her best to find it for him. 

He grimaces. “Promised Lieberman I’d help him uninstall some security shit from his house. It’ll go faster with two people, and he’s trying to do it while his family is out for a few hours.”

Karen can’t help a small laugh. “He was surveilling his own house?”

“Yeah,” says Frank. “And uh—your place, too.”

She blinks. “What?”

He steps around her, carefully setting the flowers on her coffee table, then goes to her fire escape. He opens the window, steps out and reaches for something high. Then he gives a yank and a small wireless camera comes free. There’s a solar panel, but it’s all so tiny that it’s no wonder she never noticed it before.

“Sorry,” says Frank, shutting the window. He shoves the camera into his coat pocket. “I swear, it was just so he could see the roses, when you put them in the window.”

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “And here I thought you were wandering the night, checking every evening to see if I’d put them out.”

“Naw,” he says, and his smile is warm and a little self-deprecating, and it makes her stomach flip over. “Never any time for midnight walks when I was working with Lieberman. It was all spy shit and him making sandwiches without me.”

“And now?” she asks. There’s perhaps a little more emphasis on those two words than she intends.

“Not working with him anymore,” he says. “Not—not working at all, for the moment.” He exhales. “Still trying to figure shit out.” His arms swing a little at his sides, like he’s nervous or restless.

“Well,” she says. “I mean—if you wanted to figure anything out with company, I’m always here.”

He looks at her, then. All dark eyes and sharp edges. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Thank you, for the flowers. And for getting the camera off of my place. But—but you don’t need an excuse to stop by.” She steps closer, giving him every chance to retreat, but he remains solidly in place. She puts her arms around his neck and hugs him. His arms come up and he returns the embrace with the kind of desperation of someone who hasn’t been touched in a long while—at least not in a way that matters. It’s how he hugged her when he first returned, like he wasn’t sure how much time he’d be allowed.

All the time in the world, she wants to say. Instead, she presses the smallest of kisses to his clothed shoulder. She isn’t even sure he’ll feel it, this discreet little kiss.

Then he stiffens—and she knows he felt it, a thrill of something like terror going through her. Fuck. Fuck—she just messed up the only real friendship she has and—

And then he’s pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes raking across her face, before lowering his mouth to hers.

It feels like her every nerve is straining toward him, so even this whisper-light touch burns. The kiss is slow, like Frank is trying to feel her out, to gauge what she does and doesn’t like and she can’t tell him that she likes all of it. The way his hand cups just beneath her jaw, the scent of the city still clinging to his coat, the heat of his mouth against hers. It’s achingly gentle.

She pulls back to catch her breath. His own breathing seems a little unsteady. “Shit,” he says quietly, the corners of his mouth creasing. “I really do have to go. But—later. Tomorrow, maybe. I’ll grab a shower, put on something not so grease-stained. We could—dinner, maybe?”

She nods. “That sounds good In the meantime, are you sure I can’t grab you a cup of coffee?” she asks quietly. “It can—just be coffee.”

He laughs hoarsely. “It’d never be ‘just’ anything, not with us.” His hand still cups the back of her neck, thumb moving back and forth. It feels so good she could melt into that touch.

“I’ll see you later, Karen,” he says, and his voice is rough with wanting. “Tomorrow.”

It’s more of a promise than he’s ever given her before—and she takes some comfort in that. “All right.”

* * *

It’s the first time she feels his mouth against hers—but it won’t be the last.


End file.
